Travel Journal Bound by Love!
by SqueamishAnchovies
Summary: The light music club takes a winter beach trip! What could possibly go wrong? (Everything.)
1. Yui

Yo! Yui here.

I'm in a van with my friends right now, on the way to the beach! It's pretty hard to write on bumpy roads, but Mugi's chaffer* knows what he's doing, so we'll be okay. Only problem now is getting there. There's this huge snowstorm in the way, so we have to take the _long_ way around, and that's gonna mean a couple extra hours on the trip.

We're getting kinda bored.

Ricchan's snoozing in the backseat, listening to the Beetles or the Whom or someone like that. Mugi's reading, Azu-nyan's cat-napping, and Mio...oh, now Mio's yelling, telling me to slow down the story. It was her idea to start this vacation diary—sorry, sorry, _travel journal._ Well, what's cool is, she let me have a go at the first entry! Here's how it's gonna be: everybody's gonna write about one day of the trip, and since it's a five-day trip, we—oh, now Mio says to go back to the beginning. It's weird. I won five times in a row at rock-paper-scissors, to write first. I never win. Maybe Mio let me win. Maybe she was trying to get rid of me. Maybe I shouldn't have been belting out K-pop lyrics loud enough to deafen an elephant. (Her words, not mine.)

There's not much to do right now, so I guess I'll go back to the beginning. Whoever you are who might be reading this, you might be wondering why we're driving instead of taking the train like we usually do. Or why it's snowing when we're going to the beach. Or why we've all packed our instruments in the backseat. (I did mention that, right?) Those would all be really good questions.

Oh, I hope Gitah's okay back there, squished between Mugi's keyboard case and Ricchan's drum set. He doesn't like the cold too much, so I tied a scarf around his neck and put a fluffy hat on top of his tuning board thingy. He looks so cute, dressed up for winter. I'm gonna take him out of his case for a bit...

Am I spacing out again? Oh, okay. Right. Write, Yui, you can do it!

Maybe I'll tell you how this morning started. That should clear up a few things.

So there I was, having this really great dream about marshmellows waving machetes, or maybe it was machetes waving marshmellows, when then Ui barges into my room and says I'm gonna be late. I wake up, kinda. Late for what? I ask.

Don't you remember? Ui says. The train!

Uh-oh. My brain starts to warm up. I remember now. Ricchan called me, the day before, saying it was winter break of our senior year, and we should do something special with the light music club.

Like watch The Muppets Christmas Carol? I said.

Yes, Ricchan said, except no, no, no! Not just a movie, or eating out, or even another training camp. We're going to the beach!

In winter, I repeated.

Yes, in winter, she said. We'll be at Mugi's villa.

Oh, the really little one that wasn't really little.

That's the one.

Sure! I said, count me in!

Ricchan said to bring all my stuff to the train station early in the morning, like ten-ish. (Makes it sound like the plan was made up at the last minute, doesn't it.)

Well, I said the idea sounded great, and I'd see her in the morning. Then I went to bed.

When Ui woke me up, she acted all panicky, saying I'd overslept and I was going to be late. But I played the calmer, wiser older sister and went about things at my own pace. It was 10:43 when I got up. You should have seen the look on Ui's face when she realized I hadn't even packed—she looks so cute and funny when she's steaming mad.

So we stuffed a bunch of stuff into a suitcase and wheeled out to the train station. I wish I could have packed Yui, now that I think of it. She'd be so helpful to have around.

As it turns out, once we made it to the train station, breathing heavy and all that stuff, we'd missed the train by half an hour. Good thing my friends were nice enough to wait for me, not that they looked happy about it. I smiled and said sorry as many times as I could without it getting annoying, and I offered to buy tea and cakes and coffee and new tickets for everyone with all that money I don't have. Then came the announcement that all other trains to the place we were going were cancelled for the rest of the day, on account of the snowstorm rolling in. To be safe, I said sorry a couple hundred times more.

Mugi was the nicest about it. She said we didn't have to stay at the little villa, but we could move to a bigger resort, or even take a private plane to her private island. I was all for this idea, but Mio shot it down right away. (She's been in that kind of mood today.) When asked why she insisted on this spot, she twiddled her thumbs and mumbled something about nostalgia value. So we all shrugged and went along with it.

And that takes us to where we are now, stuck on the road, after hours and hours and hours of driving.

Oh, I hope Gitah's okay. I hope Ui's okay, too—she always worries about me.

I'm going to ask if anybody wants to play a travel game...

...

...Nobody wants to play a travel game. Aww. And now my head hurts from the welt Mio-chan gave me for disturbing Ricchan.

Mm, nothing to do. Scribble-scribble, doodle-doodle...

Oh look, we're here! Finally. I think I dozed off for a bit there.

Everybody else is waking up too. I wonder when Azu-nyan will notice the whiskers I drew on her face while she was sleeping.

...Well, we've moved all the luggage inside, and the house is just as big as we remember! And Mugi's apologizing again for no reason.

We set up all our music stuff in the studio—in case we feel in the mood, Mio says. I dunno _how _Ricchan let her smuggle those along.

It's getting dark outside already, thanks to Old Man Winter, so I guess we can't head to the beach or go into town.

Mugi volunteered to make dinner. That scares me.

Oh listen, sounds like Azu-nyan found out after all.

Hmm. Not much going on. What to write, what to write...

Amazing smells wafting in from the kitchen. Shrimp flambé, white rice flambé, mixed vegetables flambé...um, Mugi, the kitchen's on fire.

And there goes Azu-nyan with the fire extinguisher, whoosh. (Her face is only half washed off—it looks so silly.) And there goes our dinner. Mugi looks like she's about to cry. Be right back...

...Ah, that was a good Mugi hug. I got the warm fuzzies in me.

Mio's cooking now, some stew with potatoes and things. It's all bubbly.

And don't tell Mio, but Ricchan's sneaking up on her with one of the super-deep-fried shrimp. Mio hates shrimp and other wriggly things, almost as much as she hates barnacles. There it goes down Mio's tee shirt. Now she's squealing and screaming and dancing around like James Brown, and Ricchan's laughing her head off. Hee-hee. Mio's mad. She gave Ricchan a plateful of shrimp to the face. Now there's shrimp all over the kitchen floor. Azu-nyan just stepped in and slipped on one. Good thing I'm safe on the couch in the corner, where they can't—

...

Dinner was great. We had stew with pork, boiled potatoes, and soba noodles, with sides of white rice and steamed vegetables. Mugi said it was delicious, and so did everyone else, but only Mugi added that she wishes she could cook like this. Mio offered to teach her—she looked almost as happy to find a willing student as Mugi was to find a teacher. There were hugs exchanged.

Ricchan, meanwhile, found out she could make soft scuttling noises, like lots of little scurrying crustation legs, to freak out Mio. She jumped and splattered soba noodles all over Mugi. We haven't laughed that hard together since Azu-nyan's cat exploded. (It was her favorite stuffed animal. Such a sad story, I don't wanna tell it.)

Well, the weather forecast says it's supposed to stay cold and rainy all week. I wonder how Ricchan thinks we're supposed to go to the beach when it's like this. Guess we'll find out tomorrow—tomorrow, I hand you over to Ricchan, Mr. Diary!

The others are telling me to turn out the light and go to sleep. We're all sharing the same tatami room again.

It's been fun talking to you, Mr. Diary! Hope you have fun with Ricchan. Yui loves you~!

...

_Note: I've edited this entry for grammar and spelling, but some details might have escaped my notice. Without a complete rewrite, certain errors would be too difficult to extract, such as the widely and wildly inconsistent verb tenses. Not that I'm not perfect—I underlined any words I'll have to look up later to be sure how to spell._

_Hmm. There's a lot of embarrassing things in here. Need I remind you of our dessert, Yui, and how the choco-carrot-onion cake was _your_ idea? Based on the reasoning that cake tastes good but is bad, vegetables are good but taste bad, therefore vegetable cake is good and tastes good? Still can't believe you made that, or worse, that I tried it._

_Water under the bridge. Let's hope our next entry shows a marked improvement._

—_Mio_


	2. Ritsu

Too tired to write anything. Nighty-night.

...

Forget it. It's the middle of the night, and nobody can sleep over Yui's snoring. All right, let's see, what did we do today...

Well, we woke up. Goes without saying, hopefully. Mio-chan cooked up a nice safe breakfast—no jointed legs or googly eyes or creepy things like that. It tasted good anyway.

I whooped like a little kid when I saw how clear and sunny it was outside. Thanks to my notoriously contagious charm, we suited up for the beach! Swimsuits, sandals, beach hats, beach chairs, the whole getup! Yep, we stepped right outside...and nearly died of frostbite. Sunny, yes, but freezing cold. Winter pretending it was summer! I was miffed, to say the least.

Mio slunk back inside for a sweatshirt, Mugi for a scarf and gloves, and Yui...she took full advantage of the situation, stretched out on the sofa and was asleep again in seconds. How does she do it? She slept better than any of us!

Oh well. Me and my faithful follower Azusa (never mind, she told me not to call her my faithful follower ever again, and I mean ever, sniff-sniff) went down to the beach with as much stuff as we could carry. It was great. Seriously, you should have seen us, especially when Azu accidentally let go of the beach umbrella, which fell over and bonked me on the head, and that surprise made me drop the picnic basket, which fell on my foot, which made me fling out my hands, and I accidentally smacked Azu-nyan in the face, so she teetered back and fell on her little butt, but not before her sandalled foot smacked me in the back and sent me sprawling face-first into a pile of sand. Yep. We made a mess.

We laughed about it...a couple hours later. At the time, let's just say we agreed to wait for the others.

The way Mio and Mugi and Yui dressed, they looked ready for gym class—sweatshirts, sweatpants, sneakers, the whole bit. I told them as much. Mio-chan told me I was an idiot who would catch her death in that skimpy bikini. Mugi cheerfully came to my defense and said that wouldn't happen, because idiots can't catch colds. It was the closest I could get to an argument in my favor, so I latched onto it. We had a good laugh.

Turns out they were both wrong—I didn't get a cold. Nope, heh-heh. I got the flu. So here I am now, one day later, burning up from a fever, throat scratchy, nose clogged, feeling very much like puking my guts out. But it was worth it.

Oh, have I told you about my bikini? I haven't, have I. Let's do that. You want to know, don't you? Of course you do. It's a tiny thing held together by strings—candy-striped (make up your own naughty joke later) in orange and brown and blue and yellow. It shows off my belly, which is most certainly tight and taut and not at all flabby from a lollygagging lifestyle, school-related stress, and the mountains of cake we consume in the light music club. Nope—picture a swimsuit model in your mind, only it was me. That was what it looked like.

The others looked okay. Azu-nyan had this cute white one-piece, and Mugi (under all that winter wear) wore her school swimsuit, which delighted her to no end. Why our rich kid wants to act poor (read: normal) boggles the mind. I already told you about Mio the P.E. escapee. And Yui? Well...once Mio managed to drag our team pet/court jester out of the house, Yui hid inside a parka and ski pants. Where she got them, I'm not sure I want to know. She curled up under the umbrella and napped the whole time we were on the beach. Writing yesterday must have taken it out of her.

I'm starting to feel it, too—I'm nodding off even as I'm scribbling. Yui-chan said I should write down the most important things and not ramble too much. (Tee-hee, Mugi just farted. Thought you ought to know. Don't tell her.) As much as I'd like to conk out now and finish this later, Mio will pester me about it for the rest of the week, and I'd forget all this stuff anyway. So here we are. Writing. Right.

Where were we?

Oh yes. Beach.

So there I was, stretched out on a beach towel, wearing a string bikini in the dead of winter, overcoming the cold by sheer willpower. Not as hard as it sounds—the sun was warm. Before I knew it, I was having a good time.

Mio went out on a rock jetty to stare at the sea, maybe to write lyrics in her head. If inspiration ever struck, she sure didn't show it—she was too busy working off cake calories with all that shivering.

At least Mugi didn't seem to mind the cold. Like me, she was having too much fun to notice. She'd spent another Christmas break at the villa (or one of them, at any rate), so she knew what we should do. With the wind the way it was, Mugi took Azu-nyan kite-flying. At first she was all like Charlie Brown, but once Azu-nyan could get the thing in the air, she enjoyed herself immensely. They ran up and down the beach, dragging the kite thing along. Azu-nyan's was this huge phoenix that looked like its tail was on fire, and Mugi flew a green dragon with a ginormous mustache.

I'm not boring you, am I?

Let's talk about my bikini some more.

Like I said before, it's a teeny-tiny number, smaller than I usually wear, but I splurged this time. I got it last summer during that one sale, you know the one, but it was a tight fit and I couldn't find a chance to wear it. To make sure it'd fit, I even swore off sweets for a whole day. Unlike _some _(Mio-chan), I can't get fat where it counts. It's me and Mr. Jelly Belly. But today I think I looked great, aside from the goose pimples all over me, and little involuntary shivers. Convincing my body it's summer and not winter takes more work than I thought—am I really so hard-headed I can't even persuade myself? Well, I was bummed when nobody told me how amazing I looked. I even wore my hair down, not that anybody noticed. Except Mugi, who got me confused for Yui-chan.

I'd had my fill of sun and sand. I chose to brave the water. But no way I'd go in alone. Soon as Mugi and Azu-nyan came back from kite-flying, still laughing and having fun, I grabbed them both and rhino-charged into the arctic ocean.

We went under.

You know that feeling when you're about to take a shower, you're standing there stark naked, and you stick your leg or some limb in there, only to find out the water's cold, freezing cold, because the hot water isn't made yet, and you're standing there, partly damp, waiting for the water to heat up so you can get in and get warm, but instead you're just standing there wet and shivering and without any clothes on? Yeah. It was like that, times ten thousand. And _we_ had clothes on, thank you.

Azu-nyan came up for air first, all flailing and spitting and stuff, wailing about salt in her eyes and seaweed around her leg. Mugi giggled and doggie-paddled back to land. She must've had swimming lessons before. I can assure you Azu-nyan did _not_, and in fact she was having a hard time keeping her head above water, much less getting back to the beach, what with the undertow pulling her light little body back out. While I was finding this insanely funny, Mio noticed us and leaped into action, literally—she dove into the freezing-cold water and retrieved one water-logged Azu-nyan. She was fine, aside from the trauma.

So we sat in a circle, the four of us swimmers, teeth chattering, for a serious talk. Or at least I think it was serious. Hard to tell, with Mio looking so adorable, hugging her knees, trying her hardest to keep a stern face and hold off the shivers. It didn't work. But I was effectively banned from the beach. I was not happy about this. Actually, I was about to complain, and things were about to get really serious, when suddenly...

...Oh, sorry. Pen ran out of ink, so I had to run to get another one. For a house this big, it sure is hard to find things. I looked everywhere, in the kitchen drawers, the bathroom cabinet, and I didn't find one until I rummaged through Mio's bass case and got out her songwriting pen. Like everything else about her, it should just melt from cuteness critical mass—it's covered in tiger stripes and paw prints and pretty orange ink, and it...oh wait, maybe this is Azu-nyan's. My bad.

We were talking about something. Yui! That's it.

I was about to protest my beach-ban, when suddenly, Yui sits up, flat outta nowhere (scared the bejeezus out of Mio) and loudly says she wants to go "treasure hunting!" Mugi smiles and says she brought metal detectors for that very purpose. Scary. This girl thinks of everything.

A perfect compromise—I got to smell the salt air and feel the sand squish between my toes, while the rest of us got to walk briskly to keep the blood flowing. Mio found a 100 yen coin, Azu-nyan a hypodermic needle thingy, and Mugi dug up another (sadly defunct) metal detector. Weird, huh? Even weirder, I didn't find _anything_. I think my sensor was broken or something.

But I think Yui had the most fun of all. I swear her metal detector is magic. She found 500 yen, a bent license plate, and—get this—an old, old guitar pick. We're talking, ancient. It had a hole to put it on a necklace and everything. Well, Yui decided it was the "Pick of Destiny," which she promised she'd wear around her neck as a good luck charm. It glittered kinda green, like back-of-the-fridge pea soup.

We got back to the house before dark. It was Yui's turn to cook dinner, but she didn't feel like it (thank God), so she and Mugi went into town to buy cake. Marble cake, with chocolate and vanilla icing mixed together. It tasted great, but I would've been good with yakisoba.

After dinner, I started sniffling. I felt like lying down so much I fainted right in the kitchen. Don't worry, the bruise on my forehead isn't that noticeable. I went to bed early, not to sleep but just to lie there, and around then I remembered what I forgot at the beach: sunblock! Of course. Who thinks of sunblock in winter? Well, I remembered all right, and lay there all night itching and burning and sick to my stomach.

I don't mean to complain, but—never mind, I do mean to complain. It's that bad.

Well, on the bright side, maybe it's a good thing we're not going back to the beach. After that cake (it's gone now), I don't think I could squeeze into my bikini anymore.


	3. Mio

If tHIs iS h_a_rD 2 Re**a**_d_, 1'm s0rRy. mY W_r_iTi**n**_g_ h_a__N_**d** _g__O_**t** bitTe_n_ **b**_a_**d**l_y_ 2**d**_a_y, _s_o I'_**m**_ _u_**s**i_**n**_g mY R_i__**g**__**H**_t. iT's _h_a**r**D. _I_'**m** _s_**o**R**r**y _i_f...

(_Hi! It's Ricchan again. Er, I'm writing for Mio 'cause she __kinda __can't right now, so she's telling me what to write for her. __All right, let's do our best__!_)

Like most every day, it started innocently enough. Breakfast of yesterday's leftovers, plus a supermarket watermelon, the kind grown in greenhouses where it's summer all year round (like Yui's imagination). It tasted as good as you'd expect.

Today was my turn (_Mio's, not _mine) to choose what we did. Once everybody was up (the brink of noon), we sat at the breakfast table, munching mushy watermelon, to politely bicker about how we'd spend the day. After much debate, and a seed-spitting massacre, we weren't any closer to a decision. I suggested a shopping spree in town. It got shot down. Then Tsumugi whispered there may be ice cream involved—Ritsu latched onto it, and away we went.

Ice cream. In the dead of winter. Let that sink in for a minute. And who's the one with the fever, again?

(_For those of you worried about me—gosh, there _are _a lot of you, aren't there?—I felt fine by the end of the day. Just a twenty-four hour flu, __nothing serious, __with __only __a sore throat and chapped nose for souvenirs. Yup, good times._)

We bundled up and walked into town.

You may wonder why we didn't drive. About that...early this morning, when I was the only one awake, I planned to drive into town to get groceries, restock the fridge. And the van wouldn't start. It sounded like Ritsu—coughing and wheezing as an excuse not to do anything. (_Hey!_) I probably sat in that cold car for fifteen minutes. Having had enough of that, I climbed back into bed for three hours. Ah, so this is what it feels like to be Yui.

Out of food and out to spend all that money we don't have—most of us, anyway—we went into town. Like yesterday's weather, it was a lovely sunny day, the sort you read about in manga, except here the thermometer peaked five degrees below freezing.

We hit the clothing store first, and Yui hit the sliding glass door on the way in. That was the highlight of our visit. Yui sat out so she could recover from her "head trauma." Azusa couldn't find anything that she liked in her size (she wouldn't resort to the "petites" section), and Ritsu too—same problem, but with wide waist. For a Japanese schoolgirl, she's not as tiny as you'd think. (_Oi_...)

Tsumugi didn't buy anything, since her wardrobe at home offers a better and broader selection. She probably could have bought the store if she wanted. So she wandered blithely in the aisles, actively ignoring her wealth.

I didn't want to be the only one who bought something, so I put back what I had. It was cute, though.

Next up: music shop! We perused the sheet music collection for pieces our band could cover, but most of the music was too easy or too hard. Yui snubbed their inventory of guitar picks, because _SHE_ had the Pick of Destiny! I wanted to say that her legendary talisman was just a junky relic she bound buried in sand, but fortunately Azusa stopped me—she asked how a certain new guitar strap would look on her. When I asked her if she really needed one, she said she really didn't and put it back, sighing. I wondered if that was the right thing to say. (While Azusa wasn't looking, Mugi picked it up and bought it. Christmas is coming, she said with a wink. Mugi to the rescue!)

And believe it or not, the little music shop actually had a left-handed bass. (Not that I'd give up mine for anything, I swear!) But there it was. A terrifying blood-red eight-string Flying V, pretty scratched up from its previous owner._ Definitely_ not my type. I left it to inspire some aspiring metalhead. But for me? Nope nope nope nope nope.

Ritsu looked rather bored (_broke, actually_), so I talked her into going outside to wait while the others stopped and shopped. To keep our hands warm, we got coffee—hers black, mine super-sweet, creamy, steaming hot. We stood on the store corner, watching the people and cars pass by. Ritsu whistled "Fuwa Fuwa Time" off-key (_but _precisely _on-beat!_).

Then it happened.

My recurring dream came true.

Something I've thought about and thought about, even dreamed about, came true.

A stray cat came up to me. It poked its nose out of a storm drain, wriggled out, and looked up at me with its shiny black eyes. The kitty was tiny, skinny, and awfully filthy. Barely bigger than a kitten. It mewed at me. I felt bad for the poor thing—so cold and always hungry, without a place to stay...

I bent down and beckoned. It padded over and rubbed up against my leg, purring. Its fur left grease stains on my jeans. I laughed, and that caught Ritsu's attention. When she saw the cat, she immediately dubbed it Blackie. I'd have criticized her lack of imagination, but then again, she's a drummer and I'm a singer-songwriter. (_Oi, Mio, why so harsh lately? Was it something I said? Don't answer that._)

Blackie had no collar, but there was a ring in the fur around its neck where a collar could have been. A runaway, Ritsu guessed. I patted and petted its head, and since she saw me having so much fun, Ritsu said she wanted a turn with the kitty.

Then it bit my hand.

I don't know if I rubbed Blackie wrong, touched a sore spot, or if it felt a sudden craving that only hands could satisfy. Whatever the reason, I'm not ashamed to admit: I squealed like a little girl. Ritsu did too (_did NOT!_) and said she didn't want a turn anymore.

Spooked, or perhaps bored with us humans, Blackie leaped into the street. I squealed again when a passing truck nearly squashed Blackie into a kitty-pancake. (It didn't happen, but it wasn't helping that Ritsu kept chanting, "Kitty-pancake, Kitty-pancake!" and I had to cover my ears.) Blackie kept going, tail held high.

Sighing, I massaged the bite mark on my hand. The wound wasn't red or anything, but it hurt like it should be gushing red stuff. Even though I wanted to, I didn't cry (_did TOO!_). Still, I was worried about that poor kitty. Despite my throbbing hand...my _left_ hand.

Ritsu wondered aloud if Blackie had rabies.

They must have heard my scream from _inside_ the shop, because Tsumugi and Yui and Azusa all burst out, posed like Charlie's Angels but with shopping bags. They asked what happened; Ritsu said, Mio has rabies. Mugi swooned; while Ritsu fanned Mugi, Yui tried to exorcise the demon from my hand (who made her a priest, I'm not sure I want to know); and Azusa, sweet sane Azusa, said that I probably don't have rabies, but I'd better get the bite washed out so it doesn't get infected. Ritsu gave the thumbs-up—as expected of Azu-nyan, our cat expert! Our little freshman blushed and said _never_ to call her that embarrassing nickname in public.

I like Azusa. She's almost normal.

So, you might ask, even if I did the proper sanitary thing, why did it end up like this, with Ritsu writing my entry? Well. Later, we applied some ointment so my hand wouldn't get infected. But I must have reacted to the medicine—right after that, my hand swelled up like a pufferfish. I couldn't play bass or even write. There's irony, right? Hence, my secretary.

After shopping more but with little to show for it, we stopped for lunch. We had tea and tuna fish sandwiches.

Browsing the community bulletin board by the cafe's entrance, I found the reason we were here, in this town, for this week. I'm consciously being cryptic because we have an audience. (_Eh? She talking about me?_)

I snatched a lime-green flyer and ran back to the table. I told them to look at this. They looked at me.

A local music festival, thirty-four years running! Featuring live performances from local musicians and composers! Two days from now, on the last day of our vacation!

How convenient, Mugi giggled. Azusa also said she wouldn't mind going.

Going? I chuckled. We're _going _to participate.

The reaction was less than stellar.

Ritsu complained that the festival would eat up the rest of our vacation, and I said that it wasn't like we'd done much with our time. (_But that's the POINT!_)

Yui—spacing out—said sure, whatever, and then went back to nibbling her sandwich.

But, as Mugi pointed out, if we're planning on playing, we'd better sign up soon—registration ends in, eh, about half an hour.

Half an hour?! I scanned the flyer again. How did I miss that?! No time to waste! I grabbed Ritsu by the collar, slammed down a tip on the table, and bolted for the registration center, all the while praying, Please don't be closed, please don't be closed!

They weren't. Amazingly. And the booth was busy, too, accepting applicants right up until the minute it closed. Ritsu and I were among the very last. I signed us up as After-School Teatime and let the music manager listen to the tape I always carry with me. He said he liked our style, but not so much the content. (I was crestfallen—I'd poured my heart into those lyrics.) Instead, to suit the season, he suggested Christmas carols. Christmas carols! If that was all it took to get a gig, I was in favor of it. Ritsu and I signed the sheets, picked up the lineup schedule, and zipped back to the cafe.

As a band, we marched backed to the music store, where we raided their inventory of rock arrangements. (For Christmas carols, I assure you, there are millions.) We picked ones we liked, headed home, and set to practicing. Well, sort of. I couldn't play because my hand was acting up. I was in good company—the rest of the band couldn't play the music either. We were ready to call it quits after the first four trainwrecks.

But Yui, of all people, wouldn't give in. She said she had the Pick of Destiny, and she was going to play well at the festival, even if it killed her! The rest of us weren't so extreme, but we were willing to give it another go. We kept trying, and grew into a slightly prettier trainwreck by the end.

I went to bed with "Good King Wenceslas" in my head.

But I'm still worrying about my hand. What if it doesn't get better before the festival? Can the band hold up without a bass? What if I got infected? What if I really _do_ have rabies? If I should start frothing at the mouth, would any of my friends have the courage to put me down like Old Yeller? What if

_blah blah blah, give it a rest, Mio. It's not like you're gonna die. Probably._

_ So, that's the end of that. Thank heaven. Mio sure is strict about what I write down. You might even call her a dictator. __Tee-hee._

_ ...She bopped me with a pillow for that little comment. __Suppose __the first thing rabies kills is your sense of humor._

_ More to write tomorrow, and not by me, woo-hoo! We'll be practicing lots. maybe I'll get __down __those syncopated triplets in "Carol of the Bells."_

_ Goodnight for now..._


	4. Tsumugi

Um...this is where I start, right?

Well, what's there to say?

Here goes:

Our fourth day of vacation hit us like a bag of bricks, leaving some of us equally stunned.

The thunderstorm started before sunup, and Mio couldn't sleep after that. She skittered to the corner, hands pressed over her ears. On the way there she tripped over Azusa, who upon waking up decided she wouldn't sleep either—she stayed up with Mio, or at least fell asleep on her shoulder. Mio looked more comfortable with a warm body beside her, never mind the soggy trail of freshman drool soaking her nightshirt. Mio wore a tiny trembling smile, the one when she faces the big scary world but knows she'll be okay because she's not alone.

They looked so cute together.

Oh dear, nobody's going to read this, are they? How embarrassing that would be. I suppose I can't just write whatever I think.

Uh, ahem.

I was up early too, so once Mio drifted off again, I went to fix breakfast. After the disaster with dinner the other night, I thought I'd better learn to cook. It's a good girly thing to know how to do. No matter what Father says, I can't stay sheltered forever. Although, whenever I'd beg my culinary staff to teach me, they'd laugh and keep handing me four-course five-star meals on silver platters.

Thunder crashed, like that time Ritsu dropped her cymbal down the stairs. Lightning flashed, like our one live show when the trainee lighting technician accidentally punched the "induce epileptic seizures" button—that show was fun. Rain lashed at the windows, like a water monster clawing to get in. (Tee-hee, can't wait to tell that last one to Mio.)

With a quiet kitchen and noisy weather for company, I thought I'd fix breakfast. Omelettes, pancakes, the works. Only it didn't work as well as I thought it would. The plan was perfect: get up while everyone's asleep, prepare breakfast so there's food when everyone else wakes up. Hugs and congratulations all around. If only. Plans of mice and men, I guess.

The first batch of eggs turned out like Pompeii after Vesuvius. But I wouldn't give up. I wouldn't give up until I blew through all the eggs in the house—three dozen's worth. By the end, I'd managed slightly brighter charcoal. I stood there, a failed chef, barefoot in my pajamas and "Kiss the Cook" apron, facing a plate piled with the ashes of unborn chickens, embedded with the occasional chunk of shell for flavor. It's enough to make you want to cry. (I didn't—the rain did that for me.)

But the pancakes turned out better, I'm happy to say. Or should I say, _pancake_.

I couldn't scrape the charred gunk from the big skillet, so I settled for a littler skillet out of the cupboard. While extracting the spatula from the utensil drawer, I nearly sent the contents clattering to the linoleum, which I'm sure would have awoken the others and left the surprise more spoiled than three-year-old ice cream. Good thing I didn't wake them accidentally until much later. Meanwhile, I succeeded in stuffing the errant kitchen implements back into the drawer, although it wouldn't close after I did. Oh well. I didn't think about it at the time.

I mixed up the pancake batter, and must have mixed up the measuring units too, because the batter bubbled and burbled like something dinosaurs would get stuck in for millions of years. It ate the spoon.

Whatever monstrosity I'd created, I loved it like my own child, and was now going to fry it and eat it and share it with my friends. I flipped on the gas burner—HI seemed like a friendly temperature—and poured dollops of glop into rough pancake shapes.

Here's where things got interesting.

Thick as it was, the mixed-up mix poured faster than I'd anticipated. It swamped the little skillet. Try as I might to scoop the glop back in the mixing bowl, I opted for the easy route: make one big pancake. I felt like a mad scientist, fiddling with mystical chemicals and beakers and Bunsen burners, creating the final forbidden fusion of breakfast foods: the pancake-omelette! I kept my maniacal cackling politely quiet.

Frankenstein's breakfast was soon sizzling, I was humming a cheery tune, and the storm was clearing up. The morning had progressed quite nicely. Of course it couldn't last.

Just when things are looking their best, that's when you have to watch out the most.

At least, that's when it happened for me. I probably could have prevented the disaster that followed, but I was too happy to be thinking clearly.

First I smelled the smoke. That's weird, I thought, it smells like fresh—

I looked over and found I'd left the burner on for the eggs, only the eggs weren't there anymore, just the plate left a little too close to the burner. The _plastic _plate. It had mostly melted, and a little river of petroleum byproducts was dribbling into the gas burner. It flamed spectacularly. (I half-remembered from chemistry class that burning plastic produces hydrogen cyanide gas. Whoops.) Adequately panicked, I scrambled to turn off the burner, but got the wrong switch: the back burner flamed on and set fire to the oven mitt I'd left on the grate. Double whoops.

By now, my giant pancake had darkened to a healthy mud-brown, and should probably be flipped over to minimize the black flecks. Thinking but not thinking, I pulled off the pancake skillet so it wouldn't burn, clicked off the back burner currently cooking the oven mitt, and magnificently managed to spill the mountain of torched egg into the burner that was still on. The greasy concoction flared like a torch.

At last the smoke alarm went off. It blared loud enough to wake the dead, though not enough to resurrect my hopes of ever becoming a proper chef.

Ritsu stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, and asked if I was playing firefighter in the kitchen. Other murmurs soon followed. Horrified to hear her, I spun around...

And snagged my apron on the half-open drawer.

Out tumbled ladles, whisks, tongs, cheese graters, and an enthusiastically bouncing melon-baller. Clanging and banging like a mechanical army marching to conquer the kitchen.

Last of all, my one big pancake flopped on the floor.

It was suddenly very quiet.

(Apart from the smoke alarm.)

My friends were understanding. Although the surprise was ruined, they wanted to do whatever they could to help. Mio scrubbed dishes, Ritsu helped dry; Azusa fetched a broom and mop; and Yui, dear sweet Yui, volunteered to eat the mistakes.

I was more than touched. Someone who would taste my cooking! My eyes must have shot off sparks. So what if Yui took one or two bites, then discreetly fed the rest to the trash can.

Once the mess was cleaned up, Ritsu suggested we go into town again to eat. We took a vote; none opposed.

The rest of the day wasn't quite so exciting.

We trudged through freezing December rain to the cafe, where we ordered breakfast and discussed our lineup for the festival performance. Mio wanted one lineup; Ritsu wanted another. Azusa suggested a compromise. Yui just slurped on her iced orange juice. I watched and laughed—what great friends.

We marched back to the villa, completely undecided and thoroughly drenched. Turns out umbrellas aren't much use against splash damage.

Nobody felt like practicing, which Mio says means we need to practice even more. She warned us of the humiliation we'd face if we ever performed without practicing. Ritsu and Yui shuddered. They all sighed and plodded off to get their instruments.

I stayed outside a bit longer to watch the storm. What better place to appreciate sheer natural beauty. Speaking of which, a cat slunk onto the porch with me. The skinny kitty was soaked to the skin, fur flat on its back. I thought of a "Kitty-Pancake" for some reason.

It shook off its wet pelt, pelting me with secondhand raindrops. Then it looked up at me. It was a black cat, scrawny as can be, and couldn't be more than a year old. It mewed.

Just as I reached out to pet it, the door squealed open—suddenly alert, the kitty scampered away. Mio, who didn't notice the kitty, came to tell me everything's set up, only waiting on me. I went with her to the sound studio.

As for the next few hours...

How many ways are there to say "we practiced, then we practiced some more"?

But not for too long. The rain may have cancelled our other plans, but it certainly didn't cancel the regularly scheduled television programming. That kept Ritsu busy awhile between breaks to practice.

Yui's blindly, brilliantly confident: she says since she carries the Pick of Destiny, she cannot lose to fate! (I'd love to borrow some of that confidence.)

I can't believe we're actually performing tomorrow. Most of all, I hope we can pull together in time, even with so much to do. Despite my years of keyboard training, my fingers keep tangling up on the arpeggios in "Carol of the Bells" before we change keys for the last verse.

We'll see what happens; I can't wait till tomorrow!

See ya~


	5. Azusa

I'm no good at keeping secrets, and I've held this one in as long as I can, so here it is:

Mio planned the whole thing.

The trip, the live show, everything.

First she found out online about the Christmas Festival over break. She called up Mugi to check if our little princess had a place to stay in the area. (She did, natch.) Then Mio called up Ritsu to pitch the vacation plan—even better, she made it sound like Ritsu's idea. So Ritsu called everyone together while Mio thought about how to "stumble upon" the music festival.

Sempai confided this to me last night, after we had finished practicing.

Azusa, she said, we're getting better, but we're still unpolished. Ritsu's rushing the rhythm as always, Yui's flubbed her fair share of chords, and the rest of us are dragging trying to hit the right notes. I set up this vacation to keep our skill sharp over break—we can't keep depending on our potential to carry us through. That's why I'm counting on you to carry the band. For tonight's show, and for next year.

(Wow. Sempai's so cool. I hope I can be that cool when I'm a senior.)

But that all happened yesterday.

Today, over brunch at the kitchen table, Mio casually suggested two options (subtly taking charge, as always). One, we keep practicing, even though last night we played Christmas carols till our brains visibly fizzled. Or two, we relax and unwind and generally hope for the best.

You can imagine how the vote turned out. Brown-haired slackers versus black-haired workaholics, with blondie Mugi clinching the vote by shockingly opting for frivolity. Every time.

Except it wasn't that way at all.

Of course, Yui and Ritsu were in firm favor of screwing around, then getting around to practicing when we felt like it. (Which would be _never_.) Meanwhile, Mio insisted we practice regularly for once—who knows, we might actually get something right the first time! Shockingly, Mugi agreed with Mio. Unless we were planning on embarrassing ourselves onstage (that is, more than usual), we needed to practice. The brown-haired brigade was horror-struck by their princess's betrayal.

The deciding vote. They stared at me.

I shrank in my seat.

Finally, when the tense silence became unbearable, I peeped up that I wouldn't mind a break.

Yui and Ritsu whooped. Mio deflated, and borrowed Ritsu's expression of horrified betrayal. Mugi, ever practical, happily said she'd fetch snacks from the fridge.

As the others scurried off, I was left alone with Mio. I struggled to justify myself to Sempai, especially for such an out-of-character decision, but couldn't find a way to say it. We'd been working hard, all of us, and I thought we deserved to reward ourselves, even if just this once!

Ritsu was all over that idea. Actually, she was all over the couch, spread out like a skydiver, free-falling through the TV channels. Yui somehow squeezed onto the same couch, snuggled up next to Ritsu and sharing a hikkikomori blanket. They stared at the TV screen and drooled, lost in bliss.

I hung along with Mio, twiddling my fingers, awkwardly uncertain what to do.

Not thinking, I took out the backstage pass to the Christmas Festival and looked at it. _Really _looked at it.

**AFTER SCHOOL TEA TIME**, _Stage 6_, 7:15-8:00, performing live at—

I read the address again.

And again.

I started to shake.

A tad timidly, I raised my voice.

Apparently, we're performing onstage at an _amusement park_.

That got their attention. Mio especially—she grabbed the ticket, stared at it, and exclaimed that she hadn't even noticed.

I suggested that we could go early, ride the rides, get a feel for the place before it's time to perform.

Mugi perked up—Great idea, let's go!

Mio drooped—You want to WHAT?

Ritsu waved her hand—Yeah, sure, whatever.

Yui snored in vague approval.

Well, I wanted to go, so I decided all of us were. Even Mio conceded, although reluctantly. She privately asked me why I wanted to go so bad. I was too embarrassed to tell her, but I'll tell you. I haven't been to an amusement park since I was a little kid. I mean, a LITTLE kid. At the time, I was barely big enough to go on _any _of the rides. The phrase "You must be THIS tall to ride" still haunts my psyche, affecting me with what my elementary school counselor called "a Napoleon complex."

I really, really wanted to go.

Aside from peeling the hikkikomoris away from the TV, there was one problem: the park was about an hour away.

Someone would have to drive.

The subsequent series of events can't be fully appreciated by anyone who wasn't there.

Mio, being a responsible adult, said she could drive, and had the license to prove it. Or rather, HAD the license to prove it. She dug around in her pockets, her purse, her luggage—not there. Where? We were fine with her driving anyway, without the license on her, but she wailed, What if we get STOPPED? ...And that ended that.

We looked to Mugi. She apologized. Her chauffeur, who'd brought us here, was currently on his own vacation in Hokkaido, and wouldn't be by to get us until late this evening. She would rather not inconvenience him, or any of her other drivers. So that got shot down.

Ritsu? She had a license all right—for a moped. She insisted it's the same basic principle. That got her scratched off the list very, very quickly.

Of course Yui couldn't drive. She walks everywhere.

Would you believe that, in a moment of desperation, they actually looked at me?

There was a collective sigh, the sort that arises whenever an impulsive idea, exposed to the withering heat of reality, melts into a bubbling puddle of apathy.

At which point, a warm little hand poked up.

Mugi offered to drive.

Needless to say, we were ecstatic, and so was she—she'd only recently gotten her license and was excited to try it out. She showed it to us, her goofy picture on a plastic card rimmed in gold. She beamed. She'd always wanted to learn to drive, just like she'd always wanted to learn to cook.

That should have been the first warning sign.

It was only an hour. How bad could it be?

Heh.

One by one, we crammed our instruments into the van's backseat (except Yui, who insisted "Gitah" ride up front with her—he/it even got a seatbelt!). We clambered into the van, waited a minute to remember what we forgot, then rushed back for snacks and to lock the door. _Then_ we took off.

At least, we took of once Mugi figured out which way to turn the key.

Good thing the van wasn't a stick shift, otherwise I'm sure we'd have stalled every five meters or so.

Despite a touchy gas pedal and jerky brakes, we galumphed onward with the grace of a spastic hippo.

Somehow—I don't remember how, it's all kind of fuzzy—we hit the highway, and then we hit high-speed traffic, only not literally, only very nearly literally. We drifted in and out of lanes, cheerfully accumulating every traffic violation in existence. While we passengers screamed and shifted in our seats and shouted contradictory directions, Mugi barreled onward, blindly, blithely unaware. I swear she was _humming_.

Mio was curled into a ball. I squeaked out directions, some of which Mugi must have heard, specifically the ones like MERGE MERGE GET OUT OF THE WAY THAT'S A TRUCK AHHH THAT'S A TRUCK HEADED STRAIGHT FOR YOU GO LEFT LEFT LEFT NO NO THAT'S THE DIVIDER GO RIGHT NO LEFT AHHH!

Yui quickly gave up trying to sleep the nightmare away. She and Ritsu clung to each other, Gitah sandwiched in between, as they both babbled prayers to every god in the dictionary, begging that we'd get here in one piece, or at least enough for them to recognize us.

To think we were worried we'd be late. With Mugi at the wheel, we got there in half the time.

After what it took to get there, I"m sure no roller coaster in the world could scare us.

We poured ourselves out of the van, legs wobbling. While Mio went to stand in line on good, solid ground, I stayed to check the backseat to make sure our instruments weren't ground into dust. Opening up the back, I was pleasantly surprised—all present and accounted for. Barely a scratch.

To my surprise, a black lump wriggled out of the stacks of stuff. It bounded out and landed on the asphalt, swaying woozily. A cat? I cautiously reached for it, but it suddenly scampered off, running in zigzags, smacking headfirst into tires and hubcaps and then changing directions. Soon it was out of sight.

For a minute I was worried about our poor kitty stowaway. Then I looked int the backseat at the mess it'd left on the carpet. And WHO's going to clean this up, I wonder?!

It didn't matter. We were going to have fun today, whether we liked it or not. I locked up the van and ran after the others.

What happened next was mostly waiting and standing around, but we managed to make it fun.

An amusement park in winter becomes a rare treat—shorter lines, heavier clothes (ski caps and mittens and leggings, oh my!), and miles and miles of Christmas lights wrapped around everything and strung all over the place, promising a beautiful and bright-lit night.

Once Mugi's charming smile (and money) got us inside, we rode everything we could find. Roller coasters—up, down, upside down, Mio screaming in my ear, Yui getting ready to puke. Carousels (whee), haunted houses (eee!), ferris wheels (ahh), and that spinny disk that pushes you into the walls with centrifugal force or something.

It was fun, all of it.

And because we couldn't resist the opportunity, we bought cotton candy for everyone. It was so light and fluffy Mio composed a song about it on the spot. (I asked, and she can't remember it.)

Little by little, the daylight hours trickled away. Near sundown, I caught Mio's eye. She nodded. To an unspeakably tired audience, I announced that we should probably get to practicing, especially since we'd be onstage in a matter of hours. The others were too exhausted to argue.

Once more making use of Mugi's charisma, we talked the the park officials into letting us borrow a defunct indoor stage specificially to practice. It's great, having a Mugi around.

Actually, it's great having _all _of them around. I can't imagine a better group to hang around. Yui's silly and sometimes seems stupid, but she's got a good heart and works hard when she's in the mood. Ritsu's the same way—behind her jokes, I can tell she cares and wants to make sure we have the best time together that we can. Mugi's motherly and even queenly, but it's cute how sweet she can be, and how excited she gets about everyday things. And Mio...she's a scaredy-cat, but...well, what's there to say that hasn't already been said?

I'll miss them next year.

We aren't the best band in the world—far from it—and we can be immature sometimes, but...I think we do so well onstage because we love music, and we can always have fun together. Harmony, that's the word. We live in harmony together. And that's what makes good music.

Oh shoot, we gotta practice! I'm sitting here writing this, what am I doing?

My fingers feel stiff from the cold, and I'm a little sick from all the rides and cotton candy. I don't know how we'll perform, but I think we'll be all right.

It's been a fun trip, Mr. Diary. However the live show turns out now doesn't matter—only that we had fun doing it.

So then, here we go...!


End file.
